


We Shall Not All Sleep

by jayemgriffin



Category: Scion (Tabletop RPG)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, TBD IC Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:31:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6471889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayemgriffin/pseuds/jayemgriffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ursula thought she had already started a new life, but as it happened, the beginning wasn't quite over yet. God definitely gives you more than you can handle sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Shall Not All Sleep

Ursula stood in front of her mirror, brushing out her thick, tangled mass of hair. She’d left the window open; it was a beautiful, warm night and she liked the breeze and small noises of the street while she slept. Besides, the lilac in the convent’s yard was in full flower, and it would only stay that way for another week, so she wanted to enjoy its heady scent while it lasted.

Her first few weeks as a novitiate had been very busy. Every day began with morning prayers, then breakfast, then a flurry of activity - visiting the sick and elderly, watching young children, organizing clothing and food drives, observing the sisters as they taught in the K-12 school, supervising after-school activities (she’d been assigned to help Sister Agnes with arts and crafts club), and driving, all of that threaded through with Masses and her online courses and schoolwork. There was a surprising amount of driving - parishioners needed to go to doctor’s appointments, job interviews, laundromats, furniture stores, and more, and she and the convent’s solid, trusted black van managed to get them there. She was the youngest in the convent by about forty years, so she was usually the one tapped for driving duty. It was probably for the best, and she didn’t mind at all, of course, but it was still very tiring.

Given that, it was maybe understandable that it took her a moment to react to the gentle white light bathing the room. When she finally realized that this was not how her room normally looked just before bedtime, she couldn’t quite find the energy to do anything besides turning around very slowly.

She didn’t know what she had expected to see, which was good, because there was nothing much there. Just a bright and warm - presence that suffused everything, as though sunshine had coalesced into a formless, but strikingly beautiful, glow. Something in her recognized the presence; it felt exactly like home, exactly like mother (but if you had asked her at that moment what that meant, she wouldn’t have been able to answer). And then it all fell into place, and she knew.

For a brief and shining moment, everything she’d ever thought or believed was true, and standing right in front of her. “Holy Mother,” she whispered in gratitude and astonishment, and dropped to her knees. The presence smiled, somehow.

“Grandmother, in fact,” it said, and then Ursula’s world shattered.

* * *

 When she came downstairs, Sister Catherine looked up in alarm. “Ursula, you missed matins this morning. And breakfast. You’re white as a sheet, dear. Are you well?”

“I know,” she answered, only half-paying attention. “I need to talk to Mother Xaviera.”

“Yes, I think you’d better,” Sister Catherine answered. “I think she’s in her office now.”

* * *

 After Ursula’s breathless recitation of- of whatever had just happened, Mother Xaviera leaned back in her chair and regarded her with calm, unblinking eyes. Ursula dearly hoped that she had been coherent enough to explain the general idea of what had happened without accidentally including things like ‘the pagans might be right’ and ‘I am apparently a demigoddess.’ She much preferred the convent to the asylum. Mother Xaviera blinked, finally. “I see,” she said. “Such things are not unheard of,” and then began writing again.

Her lack of reaction was almost as disorienting as the entire experience had been. “But Reverend Mother, how do I know I’m not being led astray?”

Mother Xaviera paused and looked up at her. “Do you feel that you were being led astray? Did your vision seem to intend you harm?”

“No,” she answered immediately. “I felt so safe. I didn’t - I can’t believe it was malevolent. But what if that’s just another trick? How can I be sure?”

“You can’t be sure,” the Mother Superior answered simply. “No one can. Use your best judgement.” Her voice was completely honest, and not at all reassuring. “If it helps, I believe the Lord has a plan for you, Ursula. Be open to His leading.”

* * *

 That night, she read Psalm 37 over and over until she drifted off with the Bible still open on her lap. She barely slept, and when she did, it was restless. She dreamed of soft green light fading into yellow sunlight, of walking through lush grass in her bare feet, of the murmur of the ocean just over the hill and the light salt smell in the air. (She couldn’t possibly have recognized the ocean, since she’d lived her whole life in Chicago, but she didn’t realize that until she woke up.)

* * *

 She told the sisters about what had happened - the broad outlines, anyway - but they didn’t seem worried. “It does make sense,” Sister Catherine said as she rifled through receipts with Sister Theresa. “Think about it, dear. You’ve just begun the long process of devoting your life to the Lord. It’s only natural that He should want to be closer to you now. Like a bridegroom.”

“Not exactly like a bridegroom,” Sister Theresa interrupted sharply.

“Of course not,” Sister Catherine replied soothingly. “It’s a metaphor. God is so much larger and more complicated than we could ever hope to understand. When we are blessed with glimpses into Him, it’s normal to be overwhelmed and disoriented. Don’t worry, dear. He won’t give you any more than you can handle.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ursula said.

“Of course she’s right,” snapped Sister Theresa. “Now move your arm, I think you’re on the March grocery bills.”

* * *

 In the end, she did nothing. There didn’t seem to be anything to do. For the safety of Chicago, the voice had said. She knew in her blood and bones that she had been telling the truth. She glanced at the calendar; she had about three weeks before the day the voice had told her about. It would have to be enough time. She pulled up the catalog for her school library on her computer, and started looking.


End file.
